


The Musician and the Detective

by Regenerating_Degenerate



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Chapter Updated, Character Death, Disaster Writes Nonsense, Getting Together, Heavy Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other, Past Relationship(s), Tags will be added, Unhappy Ending, Unhealthy Relationships, no joke, this will fuck you up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8378782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Regenerating_Degenerate/pseuds/Regenerating_Degenerate
Summary: Basically, Blaster dies. Jazz doesn't take it well.Note: Pairings, other than Jazz/Prowl, are background pairings and might be simply implied.





	1. The Livelong Day

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta so this will be full of mistakes but I am looking for a beta. Also, the end of this chapter has been added to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 was revised a bit. Not by much.

The day had begun as normal. He’d woken up at midday and laid there for a while, adjusting to the weak light spilling through the small high window in his room before stumbling out of his berth to the kitchen to prepare himself a cube of warm, sweet energon. The soft gray musician had just finished stirring in his preferred additives when he’d heard someone knock at the door of his apartment. He had briefly considered if it was his roommate, Blaster, as he’d set the stirrer down, picked up his cube and went to unlock and open the door.

The DJ was always losing his keys and it wasn’t unusual for the mech to be late getting home. Sometimes, after they’d finished a gig at a club, the boombox would leave with someone and would come home covered in scratches and paint patches that weren’t a part of his color scheme.

“You need to remember your keys.” He’d said as he’d opened the door, one hand holding his cube to the curve of his bumper. Only, the mech that’d stood on the steps leading to his apartment had not been his best friend. It had been someone decked in enforcer colors, standing uneasily and looking spooked by his presence despite the visor and facemask. Chromedome, he remembered absently.

“Oh? Trouble, Officer?” Jazz had asked and the officer in question had hesitated before informing him in a serious voice tinged with regret that they’d found a body, a murder victim that looked an awful lot like his roommate, like Blaster, like the lively, brightly colored mech Jazz had called his best friend for countless years.

Jazz remembered how’d he felt the sip of energon he’d managed down before getting the door come back up, burning the lining of his throat before dropping back into his suddenly roiling tanks. The cube he’d been holding had been dropped in shock and he had numbly apologized when the energon had splattered on the enforcer- on _Chromedome’s_ legs.

Chromedome had flinched, more due to the musician’s reaction than to the mess the gray Polyhexian had made and had given his condolences before asking if Jazz could please come down to the station and identify the body.

Which was why, which was why he was here, sitting hunched in a wobbly plastic chair, wrapped in a scratchy gray blanket and holding a styrofoam cup of low grade energon in his trembling hands as Chromedome kneeled in front of him and asked him softly if the mech was alright while he replayed the memory files of that morning. Noon to the enforcers, but morning to Jazz, to Blaster and the rest of the nightlife. Now just morning to Jazz and the rest of the nightlife which, Jazz realized, horrified, probably included Blaster’s murderer.

He made a faint noise of dismay, the fuzzy edge to his vision fading away as his visor focused sharply and suddenly on Chromedome, suddenly enough that the next noise was a retching one as the energon from this morning tried to come back up again.

Chromedome stood in alarm and placed a heavy hand on Jazz’s back, attempting to alleviate his sudden nausea but only succeeding in making Jazz whine. This was something Blaster had done. When the musician had overestimated how many neon bright drinks he could have and woken up with an urgent need to purge and a pounding in his processor that did not want to go away. When Jazz had curled around a container and heaved and heaved, Blaster had been there. Rubbing the roof of his alt’s hood to alleviate his discomfort and cracking bad jokes to distract him from his pain.

Chromedome’s concerned, slightly alarmed questions brought Jazz back to the present.

“Jazz,” The mech asked again, louder now that he could see the Polyhexian had snapped out of his previous trance like state, “are you alright?” Jazz stared up at the enforcer’s limpid yellow visor blearily through his own, which was currently an opaque blue.

“Honest?” The musician rasped, feeling the words catch in his throat. Chromedome seemed to perk and Jazz realized this was his first word since his answer to the request to head to the station earlier today. “No.” That yellow visor remained unaffected even as the rest of the mnemosurgeon wilted.

It was easy for the performer to tell that Chromedome hated this part of his job. Having to inform people that their loved ones were deceased didn’t sound like it ever got any easier. The countless, horribly mutilated bodies must make him despair. Was what the enforcer felt worse than what Jazz was feeling now? What kind of world was it with so many gruesome killers loose like a plague decimating the population?

* * *

 

Chromedome stood and offered Jazz a hand.

“The chief medical examiner is ready for you.” He informed the Polyhexian as he made a mental note to set the mech up with some appointments for grief counseling. Rung, a psychiatrist who contracted with the force, worked wonders. Then again, Jazz might do better in group counseling, surrounded by mechs who got what he was feeling and by some who were already healing.

Jazz uncoiled stiffly, passing the untouched cup of energon to Chromedome instead of taking the hand he’d been offered. Chromedome cradled the cup in his hands as he waited for the lithe mech to finish folding the blanket he’d been lent.

The musician placed the folded square of cloth on the chair in which he’d been seated while he waited and stretched lifelessly, more to make walking easier than to make himself more comfortable.

Then the smaller mech looked up at the larger one and Chromedome swallowed nervously. That, was a dead stare right there. The visor did nothing to hide it. It was something he’d seen time and time again whenever he and his partner managed to bring someone in, and on the little performer before him, it looked particularly scary.

Chromedome put the styrofoam cup on the little table littered with magazines and advertisements and straightened slowly, hyper aware of the extremely focused optics that followed his movements and made him feel like prey being watched by a particularly attentive predator.

He cleared his vents loudly and started walking, not bothering to look back and check if Jazz was following him. He couldn’t hear any pedesteps but the gray Polyhexian’s EMF lashed against his own in cold bursts of grief that made the enforcer’s armor slick down tightly with a low _clink!_

Chromedome was actually glad when they got to the morgue! It meant Jazz would stop watching him like _that_. The feeling of relief was surpassed by a rush of hot guilt that escaped into his field. He felt disgusted with himself, what was wrong with him? He had brought a mourner to do his mourning and all he could think about was how relieved he felt, to be able to escape the tiny mech’s nerve-wracking scrutiny.

* * *

 

Jazz ignored the enforcer’s turmoil, his own field sticking tightly to him as he walked through the large double doors, doorwings tucking in close when the cold air of the giant refrigerator greeted them, actually making him feel a tad better. His farmost doorwing sensors sent little signals of pain but the musician welcomed them. The physical pain was so very different from the emotional pain he was going through currently, that was making him want to curl up in a little ball and die quietly.

Movement distracted him. White and red plating, no discernable altmode kibble, the chief medical examiner, he supposed, looked up from the body he was examining and radiated displeasure at the unaccompanied citizen. Jazz zeroed in on the limp frame.

His throat felt tight and his field gave quick little lashes of fear but it wasn’t Blaster, it wasn’t his best friend, it wasn’t his emica endura. Jazz quivered, not sure if he was relieved or not.

The medical examiner went around the metal slab harboring the recently, violently deceased and came up to him so Jazz focused on the stranger that wouldn’t shoot looks of pity at him and wouldn’t suffocate him with a field of regret.

The mech on the table wasn’t completely gray yet, Jazz could still see patches of the colors the flier had worn in life. It looked like he’d been colored purple and blue, both dark and rich but now faded to a dirty, pastel purple and light, smokey, gray-blue. The rotary’s chest armor was gone, he noted. It looked like someone had ripped him open and clawed pieces of his spark chamber out. Jazz felt Chromedome come up behind him and heard him begin conversing with the medical examiner in that strange tone of his, but he ignored them both until a crimson and white hand settled on his shoulder.

The performer jerked back and into Chromedome, field flaring widely in alarm. Chromedome, in turn, “ -oofed”, as an minibot sized mechanism crashed into his abdomen with enough force to throw him off balance.

Gray and silver plating fluffed, settled, and fluffed again as the embarrassment of being caught off guard hit Jazz with the force of a wayward train. Chromedome said nothing and neither did the medical examiner but the bot couldn’t find it in himself to feel grateful that they did not bring up his brief scare. Afterall, their fields said enough for both of them.

“... Are you up for identifying the body today or-”

“No! I can, I can, just... give me a minute... please.” Jazz squared his shoulders and ignored how badly he’d begun trembling.

The medical examiner started to lift his servo to guide the musician towards the refrigerator units that held the bodies of the deceased but stilled, recalling what had happened only moments earlier, and let his hand drop limply to its place by his side.

“This way.” He jerked his head to the right and started walking, stopped at a corner and staring at the two until they began following his path.

Jazz’s fingers twitched when they passed by the table with the rotary on it and he almost turned to take another look after the trio turned the corner.

In front of them gleamed silver drawers and with a quick check of paperwork on his HUD, the coroner continued forward and popped one open, pulling it out halfway and stopping. ‘

There was some filmy white covering drawn over the drawer’s contents and it was pulled back by the ME until it bundled around the body’s waist. Jazz’s nose crinkled, he couldn’t help himself.

The body certainly looked like it could be Blaster, but that didn’t mean anything. Sure, his frametype wasn’t exactly common but it wasn’t like the DJ was the only one with that particular frametype in Polyhex.

His fingers twitched again.

Jazz stepped up to the drawer, promptly bent forward to examine the body, and suddenly retched. Whoops.

* * *

 

Rewind sighed, kicking his feet against the legs of his chair, and pointedly ignored the wince of the counselor assigned to their group at the rhythmic thumping that’d been going on for nearly an hour. The cassette didn’t really care that the counselor was obviously irritated because he was the only one there who seem bothered at all by the noise.

A shimmery blue visor glanced around the room, taking in the high ceilings, the intricate stained glass windows, the crystal chandelier hanging above them, giving off a rosy light, and the mechs assembled in a rough circle around him.

Most were average sized grounders, sitting in plush chairs made of organic material. There were two who were clearly racers, with identical baby blue paint jobs, and mirrored expressions of misery which Rewind guessed were from being forced to sit so far apart from one another if the longing glances they shot one another was enough of an indicator.

Another blue bot, a touch darker than the miserable duo, with some sort of fins and some frankly memorizing golden leaf across his facemask and neck, had not moved an inch since he’d arrived.

The largest mech there, a truck of some kind, absolutely gleamed. He was, bronze, Rewind guessed, and looked as if he’d gone to the detailers for a five star treatment before he’d headed over to the mandatory grief counseling.

Bleh.

Rewind really did not want to be here, with a too new, or maybe too old, clearly frazzled counselor who had made only small, short attempts at getting the members of their group to speak to one another, or to speak at all.

So, when the far away, wooden, ugly and completely out of place door, had opened shrilly to announce the arrival of someone new, Rewind was fragging ecstatic.

* * *

 


	2. Update from the Writer

I will admit, I have kind of lost my writing drive for this story. I might eventually continue writing this but I don't want to leave anyone in suspense.

To those of you who would like to know what happened, I did write the plot of this story beforehand. Comment and let me know if you would like me to post it.

As I don't think anyone would want to adopt this story, I'll let you readers decide if I should spoil the ending in case I ever do decide to continue writing this. 

Have a nice day everyone, and to anyone who was hoping for a new chapter, I'm sorry for bringing your hopes up. 


	3. Plot

Jazz's best friend Blaster is murdered and he goes to a support group because he's not doing so well. There he meets Prowl, who convinces him to take revenge. They do it all together and Jazz ends up falling in love with Prowl half way through. Once everything is over Jazz realizes he was hallucinating and Prowl isn't real. He sits down and cries and the enforcers come to arrest him for all the murders and crimes he's committed.

Jazz is sitting in the interrogation chamber and to his shock the arresting officer is Prowl. He assumes he's hallucinating again because he's lonely and scared and tells Prowl everything, including how much he loves him.

Then Jazz is to be executed and he realizes that officer Prowl is not a hallucination and he just tells Prowl all over again that he loves him and wasn't he a hallucination.

And Prowl has grown to love Jazz because all the things hallucination Prowl told Jazz about himself that Jazz told officer Prowl about when he thought he was hallucinating again were true so he tries to save Jazz.

Prowl fails but starts hallucinating that Jazz is alive and they commit suicide together.

Then we find out through Prowl's partner Chromedome that Jazz did die and Prowl had hallucinated Jazz being alive and really committed suicide alone. 

**Author's Note:**

> So this was going to be three chapters in total but it looks like it might end up being four chapters instead.


End file.
